From that day on, Logan proceeded with stealth and relentless precision.

He began peeling back every layer connected to the name Jack Hunter: his main source of income, the distribution business; his trade partners; and even the shadowy funds that had never been recorded in the accounts. One by one, he unearthed everything bearing Jack Hunter’s name.

“My lord, the capital police have visited Jack Hunter’s office. It appears the case will be handed over to an imperial magistrate within a few days.”

On the surface, the business appeared respectable. In reality, however, it had been teetering on the brink of collapse.

To prop up the hollow interior of a bloated enterprise caused by reckless expansion, Jack inflated investors’ expectations and attracted capital. He then used that money to plug the countless leaks that threatened to tear the structure apart. It was a fragile chain, sloppily linked together.

Breaking it proved easier than expected.

Logan released the information he had gathered little by little. The market was already simmering with unpleasant rumors about Jack Hunter’s private life and conduct. Logan merely added a single spark.

“It seems a tax evasion investigation will follow soon.”

“We plan to anonymously report the evidence of tax evasion uncovered during the internal audit.”

The spark landed on a pile of wood that had been left there for a long time. The flames spread ruthlessly.

As the scandal erupted, one contract after another that had been scheduled for signing fell apart. Not only did potential new investments disappear, but existing investors also hurried to withdraw their funds. Even long-standing partners — men who had built years of trust with him — began to turn away. His company unraveled with shocking swiftness.

The decisive blow came in the form of a newspaper article.

Once the full details of Jack Hunter’s attempt to bribe a woman were made public, even the modest restaurants and butchers that had relied on his meat began to cut ties. One by one, they posted notices on their doors declaring that they were not associated with him.

It was more than a business decision.

By turning their backs on him, they were also taking a quiet but deliberate moral stand.

“They have cut ties with Jack Hunter. The shortage in supply is reportedly being redirected to his competitors.”

“Start by visiting the restaurants that ended their contracts. Present them with our business proposal first.”

“Yes, my lord. I will contact you again once the detailed proposal is ready.”

After ending his call with his secretary, Logan quietly put the phone down.

Throughout the entire ordeal, he never once stepped into the light. He worked in his study as usual, answering a few routine calls — nothing more.

From the quiet confines of his estate, he calmly observed Jack Hunter being driven into a corner, as if he were watching a carefully arranged sequence unfolding exactly as intended.

To close off every avenue of escape.

To extinguish even the faintest glimmer of hope.

To let the life drain away slowly.

That was Logan’s revenge.

Cruel.

And ruthlessly precise.

While the trial was ongoing, Bella stayed at the hotel.

With the conflict having escalated into a direct clash between Logan and Jack Hunter, there were concerns that she might become embroiled in further trouble. For her safety, it was decided that she should stay there for the time being.

When Bella asked the Grand Lady for permission to stay at the Fraser Hotel, she struggled to contain her anger. Upon hearing the news about Jack Hunter, she was so enraged that she said she would come to the capital immediately. Bella had barely managed to calm her down and persuade her to stay put.

Nevertheless, this decision led Bella into a life of luxury that she had never experienced before.

Each morning, she woke in a bed so wide that three people could lie comfortably side by side. Out of habit, she would rise and draw back the curtains, letting the gentle sunlight pour into the room. Meals arrived precisely on time, each dish astonishingly delicious, and warm tea and refreshments were always prepared in advance and ready whenever she wanted them. Hotel staff knocked softly several times a day to ask if she was comfortable and if she needed anything.

It was a world far removed from the one she had once known.

“I’m fine.”

Whenever Bella hesitated, unsure of how to respond, her words would trail off awkwardly. She knew the reason for their constant visits was the duke’s quiet instructions.

She was not ungrateful for his consideration. And yet, she could not grow accustomed to this life.

“Excuse me.”

When there was a knock at the door, Bella got up and opened it.

It was the police.

They had come several times during her stay at the hotel before. Under normal circumstances, she would have gone to the station to give her statement. However, given the public attention focused on her, and the doctor’s opinion that she might still be suffering from trauma, it was deemed safer for her to remain in the hotel.

The officers carefully recorded her testimony and asked for clarification on certain details. Bella answered as calmly as she could, forcing herself to revisit each memory.

With every recollection, fear tightened around her chest. Her heart pounded so violently that it felt as though it might burst. Nevertheless, she persevered, speaking through her trembling until the very end.

“If we require any additional statements, we will return.”

The officer concluded the session with courtesy.

“…Yes. Thank you for your efforts.”

As the officers prepared to leave, Bella stood up.

She was surprised by their demeanor.

Instead of the cold indifference she had been expecting, there was none of it. Instead, they had taken care not to distress her further during the questioning. They treated her as she was — a victim.

She had heard countless times that the poor were always at a disadvantage when dealing with nobles or the wealthy. Because of that, their fairness brought her a quiet sense of relief.

After seeing the officers out, Bella closed the door and turned back to the now silent room.

‘When will I be able to return to Netherwell?’

The investigation was nearing its conclusion. The Duke had ordered her to remain there until the trial was over, but it was impossible to know how long that would take.

For the first few days, she asked herself the same question repeatedly.

‘Do I truly belong in a place like this?’

She was a maid. A commoner. There was a place she belonged, which she would eventually have to return to.

No matter how grand it was, this place could never truly feel like hers.

Above all, she was not free to go where she pleased. She was confined to her room.

Bella walked to the window and pushed open the tightly sealed frame. Cool air from upstairs drifted in, softening the suffocating stillness that had settled inside.

During her stay at the hotel, this window had become her only connection to the outside world. She was not permitted to go onto the terrace. For security reasons, access had been strictly restricted.

She lowered her gaze and looked down.

The reporters who had swarmed in after the ball were still gathered at the hotel entrance, waiting patiently and refusing to leave.

***

“What is she doing?”

Logan, who had been working in his study, asked the question as the thought crossed his mind.

“After lunchtime, the police visited. She underwent a third round of questioning.”

Logan did not visit Bella in person. Instead, he received daily updates from the hotel staff about her condition.

Her days had fallen into a quiet, repetitive rhythm.

She woke up early, ate a simple breakfast, and read for a while. After that, she would sit in silence, staring out of the window for long periods. In the afternoon, she ate lunch, drank tea, and drifted through the hours in a daze. As the sun began to set, she went to bed early.

The same routine repeated day after day.

“She appears calm on the surface, but we’ve noticed she often gazes out of the window for long periods of time for no apparent reason. It seems she feels confined, as though the room is suffocating her.”

Upon hearing his secretary’s report, Logan’s eyebrows slowly drew together.

He knew Bella must be bored and suffocated by living in the hotel all the time. But for now, there was no other choice.

Until the trial was over, she could not leave the capital. Outside, reporters were still lingering, determined to uncover her identity at any cost.

That was precisely why she had been moved from the townhouse to the hotel. Although this decision had been made for her protection, it still restricted her freedom.

He had sent her books. He had made sure that she wanted for nothing. Every comfort had been provided. And yet, comfort could only do so much against the slow, quiet weight of confinement.

“Mr. Joshua Powell has requested a meeting with Miss Bella.”

The secretary spoke again.

Since the ball, Joshua had asked for permission to see Bella several times.

Logan fell silent, lost in thought.

If she had someone to talk to, she would surely feel less confined. Given Joshua’s temperament, he was probably worried about her, knowing she was confined to the hotel. From a rational perspective, granting the request would be the sensible decision.

But Logan did not want to.

She didn’t want to leave Bella alone with a man who had once openly declared his intention to propose to her. The memory of the day he had tried to arrange a meeting with her, only to learn that she had already made plans with Joshua, resurfaced unbidden.

If Vincent were to hear his reasoning, he would undoubtedly accuse him of being petty.

“Tell him no.”

The moment he realized that he was feeling jealous, he could no longer deny the selfishness lurking beneath his pretense of protection.